


Chess Invitations and Fresh Air

by undernightlight



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Cherik - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, charles being sweet af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13443594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undernightlight/pseuds/undernightlight
Summary: Erik is struggling on the anniversary of his mother's death. Charles notices his strange behaviour and just wants to make sure his friend is okay.Charles and Erik from the First Class Era, with corresponding actors.





	Chess Invitations and Fresh Air

**Author's Note:**

> I really like this one, even if it probably isn't my best work, though it isn't written terribly. I hope you enjoy some Cherik!

They had been at the mansion for a while now, and Erik was being to feel more comfortable there. Though everyone was still scared of him, which was the way he liked, they didn’t give him awkward looks in passing, or seem to whisper behind his back. He didn’t really mind if they did those things, but he always felt then that he had to keep his guard up to protect himself from them, but now know he knew his guard was up, but they posed no harm.

But they meant little to why Erik was actually feeling more comfortable. Instead, it was one specific man, with blue eyes and cardigans, that had made him feel welcome, something Erik hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

Charles had never given him those strange looks or ignored him, pretending he wasn’t there, but made a conscious effort to speak to him. At first, this annoyed Erik to no ends, but over time, he expected conversation, so when it didn’t come some days, he felt very strange. One night, on an impulse, it had seemed to Erik, Charles invited him to a game of chess after dinner. Erik wasn’t tired, and thought that maybe Charles could bore him into a dream-like state. Instead however, he had spent quite a while in the most evenly matched game of chess he’d ever been involved in.

He also spent the night talking. Talking with Charles was strange to begin with, as the questions were all routine, asking generic questions to get to know him. Erik didn’t ask anything, not that he can remember, and his answers were minimal, but soon, Charles would somehow stumble upon a topic where their opinions would differ, and it would then be that Erik would speak up, arguing his point. At first, it was little things, nothing heated, everything still quiet spoken words.

As time progressed, and the chess invitations came every night after their meals, their conversations were often arguments, in good spirit, of course, and their voices would occasionally rise above an acceptable volume for that hour, but no one ever complained. They would argue about anything and everything, still while playing chess.

Erik valued these moments a lot. It gave him an opportunity for a few hours every night to stop hating the world. If Charles heard him say that, he say “You can always choose to not hate the world for any length of time”, but it wasn’t that simple for him. Those few hours in Charles’ study with him every single night made him forget some of the pain from his past, if only temporary, and allowed him to feel...safe. He felt safe with Charles, and he hoped that Charles felt safe with him.

But one day, Erik didn’t feel quite right. He knew why, but he kept it to himself; who would he tell anyway? There was nothing that could be done about it, so sharing it wouldn’t make any difference.

That day, he awakes earlier than usual, and it’s still grey outside. But nonetheless, he gets out of bed and changes. He goes running every morning, he liked routine, but that day, he runs for longer, runs harder. Usually, he’d get back from his morning run, shower and change before the majority were up and awake, but that day, when he stumped his way into the kitchen from exhaustion, everyone was there, sat around the table in various states of dress. Hank was fully dressed, Raven and Sean in pyjamas, Alex in sweats but feeling he didn’t need a shirt, and Charles dressed too, but looking rather bare in just a shirt without the cardigan.

They looked at Erik as he walked in, sweating and ever slightly still out of breath, and they all looked very confused. He glared at them, and they turned back to their food, pretending they didn’t see him. He grabs a mug, fills it with coffee, and grabs one slice of toast from the table, before heading back to his room.

He planned to spend all day in his room, maybe chess in the study later, purely for routines sake, before sleeping again, if he could. His sleep schedule was often messed up around this time each year, but there was nothing much he could do about it. He had tried all he could to stabilise it each year, but to no avail, so he’d given up. He showers, talking longer than usual, purely because he had little effort to leave. But the water began to run cold, so he turned it off, dried himself off, and got dressed. He dressed the same as he always did, despite the day; he always wore black anyway, so he didn’t stand out against his usual image. He towel dried his hair some, but didn’t seem to have the energy, so let it be. He’d sweep a hand through it every so often to keep it out of his face, but stands were not smooth and in place, but crossing in directions they usually didn’t, sometimes falling into his face, and he’d push them away, only for them to fall back a little while later.

He sat on his bed, absentmindedly spinning paper clips around in the air, making sure to avoid collisions. He’d stolen these paper clips from Charles’ study, taking one or two whenever he could, without Charles seeing. He never actually needed them, but he liked stealing them from under Charles’ nose. Erik had a small pot of paper clips and clamps and thumbtacks in his bedside table draw, all ones he'd stolen. Those objects were some of his favourite to spin around, to play with when he was bored, and he didn't really know why.

He got up after a while, and walked on to the balcony of his room. The wing of the house he lived in was only lived in by Charles and himself. He requested to be away from everyone else, and this was the best that was managed. And Erik still liked it that way. Charles wasn't often in his room at this time, or at anytime, most often in his study, and he never used his balcony anyway, so Erik didn't have to worry about unwanted conversation, as their balconies weren't too far apart.

On his way out, he'd picked up a book that was sat on side table. It was a book Charles had lent him one night after chess the other week, but he hadn't gotten around to reading it yet. Charles had told him it would be a good read for him, and he'd agreed to take it with him, purely because it was Charles that had recommended it. If it had been anybody else, not that they would try, but if it had been anybody else, he'd wouldn't of taken the book, but it wasn't anybody else, it was Charles, so Erik took the book with a smile and said he'd get around to it.

He had finally gotten around to it, it seemed. So he sat down on the chair outside and began to read, hoping time would pass quickly to a point where it was acceptable to sleep. Not that he cared what others thought, but he didn't want questions about why he went back to sleep before dinner.

So he read for a while. He stopped at one point, just to stretch, and he went for glass of water from the kitchen. When he got to the kitchen, it was mostly empty, except, of course, Erik though, for Charles, who seemed to be making himself a cup of tea. Erik thought about going back upstairs when he'd first heard the cling of metal on porcelain, but he was thirsty, and he wasn't about to be scared out of the kitchen by a mug and spoon.

Charles looked at him when he walked in, stopping his stirring and putting the spoon in the sink.

“Erik,” he said, “I haven't seen you since breakfast, and even then it wasn't for long, is everything alright?”

“Everything's fine, my friend,” he replied, speaking like the way Charles would answer a question of his, “Just busy, that's all.”

Charles nodded, accepting the response, before taking a sip of his tea. “Chess tonight? Like usual?” This invitation almost seemed weird to Erik, as by now, the invitations were never vocal, but a questioning glance and a nod, or no invitation at all, but that they'd just go to the study, Erik following Charles in without thinking twice.

“Sure. White or black?” Erik walked round Charles and grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

“Black.” Charles always plays white, whether for preference of colour or that they get to move first. Erik always likes playing black. “I'm glad I can still surprise you,” Charles added, after Erik had furrowed his brow, quite obviously it seemed.

Erik smiled a little at that. He poured water from the hug kept in the fridge, and took a drink, before walking back towards the kitchen door.

“I'll see you at dinner,” Charles called to him. Erik couldn't quite tell if it was a questioned, or more of a statement, so he just waved a hand back to Charles and carried on walking.

He walked back up to his room, and set his glass down on the side table, before heading back out onto the balcony to continue reading. He picked the book up and looked at the words on the page, and it was then that he couldn't remember anything that he read. He tried to recall the previous pages, previous chapters, but nothing came to mind, not even when he glanced back pages.

He must've been distracted as he read, or when he had tried to, as nothing registered with him. He must've just skimmed over the pages, looking at the words but not reading them, and he didn't have the energy to try and start again, so he put the book back down. He walked to the edge of the balcony and rested his forearms against the stone, leaning forward, looking out.

His mind drifted away, thinking about the day, thinking about it all. He thought about when he was younger, before the War, when he was happy, and would run about in the street with his friends. Those memories were too bittersweet for him these days.

He though about when he had come to America for the first time, still young, alone. He remembered the first time he saw the Statue of Liberty, about how he felt. The possibilities were endless. He was in the land of opportunity. And he remembered how let down he'd felt when nothing seemed right. And he remembered heading back to Europe.

His mind slowly became lost in thoughts and feelings he thought he'd forgotten. So he didn't hear when there was a knock on his door. And he didn't hear when Charles called out, asking if he was okay, and if he could come in. He didn’t hear when his bedroom door was opened and Charles walked in, calling out his name again. He didn’t hear as Charles approached him. His first sign that someone was in the room with him, was a gentle hand on his shoulder. It startled him, startling him so much, that he forced the person back using the metal of their belt buckle, their back slamming against the brick wall behind him, and he raised them off the ground, dragging their back along the brick, all like a reflex. When he turned, he saw Charles, pinned uncomfortably by his belt, back rigid against the stone, clearly in pain. Erik released him, realising who it was, and Charles stumbled forward, falling onto his hands and knees coughing, trying to get air into his lungs. Erik rushed to his aid, kneeling down besides him.

“Charles, I’m sorry, are you alright?” He asked, frantic, but controlled well. He could see from where he knelt that parts of Charles’ shirt was torn and pulled and dirtied by the brick; the one time Charles goes without his cardigans, Erik thought.

“I will be, yes, I’m fine, just a bit winded it seems.”

“I didn’t know it was you, I am sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, I really shouldn't've sneaked up on you like that.” Of course, Charles would apologies, when he, clearly, had done nothing wrong. But Erik let it be. Charles was British, apologising was part of British manners, and culture, it seemed. He helped Charles to his feet, pulling on hand on his arm to pull him up, and the other on his back to keep him stable. Charles flinched rather noticeable when Erik’s hand rested against his back, so he removed it.

“Your back,” Erik said, not really knowing how else to voice his concern.

“It’s fine.” Erik put his hand back on Charles’ back, and he flinched again.

“You are not fine. Let me see to it.” It was his fault, after all, but he didn’t say that, because otherwise he’d have a Charles to deal with, being stubborn, like always, and refusing help because he would be so sure it wasn’t Erik’s fault. Erik didn’t have time for that.

He guided Charles from the balcony, and into the room, being careful to not touch his back. Although Charles could walk, Erik get his hand on his arm. He set Charles down on the edge of the bed. “Shirt off,” he said, as he walked into his bathroom to retrieve his first aid kit. He walked back in, and Charles hadn’t move.

“Must I?” He asked Erik.

“I can’t help if I can’t get to the injury.” Charles still looked hesitant, but slowly began to unbutton his shirt, while Erik took antiseptic wipes and cream out of the kit. Charles let his shirt fall off his shoulders, before grabbing it and pulling it round so he held it in bunches in his hands. Erik sat behind him to assess the damage; his skin wasn’t seriously broken in any main place, but there were scratched and graves in vertical lines across his skin, small drops of blood appearing in places. It was red and raw. Erik’s hand hovered over the marks on Charles’ back, tempted to touch, so he knew the damage he had done with his own fingers, but that would be selfish then, so he refrained. He took the antiseptic cream, and squeezed some onto his hand.

“This might sting,” he said, giving Charles some time to brace himself, before he gently started to apply the antiseptic to the marks. Charles flinched, and Erik stopped, for fear that he had hurt him.

“It’s just cold,” Charles said with a chuckle and smile, but Erik wasn’t convinced. Nonetheless, he continued. Whenever Charles flinched, he’d stop for a couple of seconds, before starting again, moving his hands gently always. He was careful as he rubbed the cream across Charles’ back, not wanting to hurt him anymore than he already had. Erik found the his fingers lingered more than they should; when he realised this, he jerked his hands away, but when he returned to helping Charles, he found that he did it without thinking.

“I can’t bandage the entire area,” Erik said once he was done with the antiseptic, “And leaving it exposed will help it heal quicker. You should wait a while before you put your shirt back on, let the cream fully be absorbed into your skin, but you should rest.”

“I’m not tired Erik.”

“You should still rest.” Erik wandered back into the bathroom, putting the first aid supplies away in the cabinet, before returning to see Charles stood now, but looking at him differently to when he had left the bed.

“What’s wrong?” asked Charles, still holding his shirt close to him.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“I’m not reading your mind, but do you know how I know you’re lying to me Erik?”

Erik dropped his gaze then, probably no helping his ‘I’m fine’ cause, but he didn’t want to look at Charles. He walked over and grabbed his glass of water on the table and took a sip. He didn’t answer Charles, but he replied as if Erik agreed.

“I know you’re lying to me, because when we were down in the kitchen, and you were getting that glass of water, you called me friend, and you’ve never done that. You’ve avoided us all all day, which isn’t unusual, but you called me friend, which definitely is. So what’s wrong?”

He was careless, and now he had somehow gotten himself backed into a corner. He set the glass down and walked out onto the balcony; he felt like he was suffocating in there. He leaned against the stone edge, forearms taking weight. The air was plentiful out on the balcony. This time, he hear Charles’ footsteps. They were a few seconds behind his, and slowly, cautious to not overstep boundaries. He put a hand on Erik’s shoulder, like he did, and Erik flinched ever slightly, but then relaxed, but he turn around.

“Erik,” his voice was gentle and quiet, and his had remained on Erik’s shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

Erik really didn’t have any intentions to tell anybody about today, what it meant to him, but Charles was always able to find a way under your skin, and he seemed to have done that with him, and, in a way, it annoyed him; he should be guarded all the time, this shouldn’t’ve happened. But at the same time, he felt relieved. If he had to tell anybody, he’d tell Charles. He decided to tell him. He wasn’t sure why he decided that, but he thought he ought to.

“It’s the anniversary of my mother’s death.” Erik kept staring out from the balcony. Charles’ hand remained on his shoulder. It fell silent for a few moment. For once, Erik didn’t like silence.

“Every year,” he continued, “Around this time, my sleep schedule becomes non existent, and my concentration level drops; I can’t focus, I can’t think clearly, I can’t…..I become easily lost in thought, and very easily startled in those moments. I...I never meant to hurt you.”

“Erik, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I hurt you Charles.”

“It was an accident, and accidents happen.”

“I still hurt you.”

“I’m fine, look for yourself.”

Erik turned and saw Charles stood there with a smile. He had, at some point, most likely when he was still in Erik’s room, put his shirt on, but had foregone the button, leaving it open and exposing his chest. He raised his arms, and gave a smile when he faced Erik again.

“See? I’m fine.” He was still smiling, waiting for Erik to smile back, and after a few moments of looking Charles over to be sure, he smiled back.

“I am not convinced, but I don’t have the energy to argue with you.”

“You really aren’t doing well are you, my friend, if you don’t even have the energy to argue with me? Something I know you get a real kick out of.” And Erik chuckled ever slightly, because it was true.

“You enjoy the arguing just as much, if not more.” Charles’ smiles widen even more, because that statement was one of the truest statements Erik had ever said. But his smile dropped, to instead of being child-like and giddy, to being smaller and serious.

“If here if you want to talk Erik,” He said, taking the conversation to back where it started, “I’m always here.”

“I don’t need to talk about it.”

“Well, I’m not leaving you alone.” Erik would normally argue with him, but for one, he was tired, he felt drained and didn’t have the energy, and, secondly, which was probably a more damning reason, was that Charles was a stubborn shit, and would not take no as an answer. So Erik just sighed and nodded his head a little, closing his eyes, opening them again when he felt a hand against his face. Charles’ thumb stroked his cheek under his eyes. And Erik leaned into the touch without thinking about it. It had been awhile since anybody had felt comfortable enough to touch him this closely, and he hadn’t thought he’d missed it, but clearly he had. He reached up and grabbed Charles’ hand, the one that was against his face, and held it tightly.

“Don’t leave me.” His voice was broken, horse and dry and pained, quiet. He squeezed his eyes closed tight when he felt tears, but one or two escaped nonetheless. He had been so void of comfort and compassion for so long, that Charles’ sentiment was overwhelming. Somewhere inside of Erik. there was a part of him that didn’t believe Charles; he had been lied to all his life, by everyone around him, but when Charles reached up, and wiped the tears away, he knew everything was genuine.

“I would never leave you Erik,” and he kissed him. And Erik kissed back, and it was filled with emotions he thought he had forgotten how to feel, and it was tender and warm. It felt like sunshine after rain in the spring with the smell of grass. It tasted like fireflies on autumn nights and roasted marshmallows over open flames. “You have me.” And Erik lost control. His mouth moved more frantically, his hands pulling Charles’ shirt of his shoulders, with no objections.

“It’s rather cold out her,” Charles interrupted, and Erik chuckled against his mouth.

“Want to move this inside?” They stayed glued together as the stumbled in the doors, Charles falling backward onto the bed, and Erik following him, hovering above. Charles winced as his back hit the duvet, and Erik stopped.

“Charles-”

“I’m fine.” Despite the protest, Erik pulled him back up off the bed and spun him around. Erik sat on the bed, with Charles stood between his legs, and he pulled him down on top of him, so Erik had his back on the bed and Charles was above. He pulled their lips together.

“Thank you,” Charles said into the kiss, and Erik smiled, as he pulled his shirt off.

“Just wait, I’ll show you something to be thankful for.”


End file.
